Little by little, it sounds brittle,
As it is human.
Little by little, it starts breaking,
As if it were a mirror.
Little by little, everything is smashed,
As if it were a storm.
Why is everything a clutter of emotions?
Why does everything shatter in times of misfortune?
Why are there more questions than answers?
My only solace is God,
Yet thousands stand as my opponents.
A chapter I write at my desk,
A chapter I write to solve these puzzled questions.
Ah! Is this the mystery,
Or do I wish to create history?
I know there will be an end to all my chains,
But is that end only ignorance,
Or could it be death?
I stack it high, but don’t sell it cheap, don’t sell it at all
It accumulates wall to wall, floor to ceiling, a mountain tall
The task is horrible, it zaps my energy, makes me tired.
Sorting, cleaning and throwing are things of which I am not wired.
I feel exhausted in this troubled cluttered room
I make phone calls, or contract relatives using Zoom
They give me all kinds of advice on what to throw and what to keep
I don’t take any of it; this mess makes me want to wail and weep.
As her eyelids quickly fluttered
Within his mind, rosy dreams cluttered.
The sky’s painted gray
My heart is bruised
My mind is cluttered
But I have you
You mend my wounds
And organize my space
Light the way
My pain is erased
Even when sorrows and woe
Refuse to wander astray
You’re always there to comfort me
On my most melancholic day
What was once dull and grim
Now inhabits a vibrant hue
Your loving regards
Are that of morning dew
An angelic presence in this confusing place
Deserves a gentle and affectionate embrace
I love you
And that I will forever state
Some say a cluttered desk
Suggests a cluttered mind,
But, in my case, it seems
Makes things harder to find.
Written July 7, 2022
My cluttered mind
Overslept
Late for work again
Let go
Kids to feed
Bills to pay
Tired, so tired
What to do?
Why me?
Disappointing them again
Repeat
What’s the matter with me?
Lord, I am not a good housekeeper.
Please allow me a little more time
to sweep away all the cobwebs
before it's quitting time.
The Lord did just that.
He gave me 20 years more.
But when I turned age 40,
I realized I needed more.
The Lord smiled at me,
His knowing smile, as I swept.
He asked me:
"You need more time?"
"Another 20 years I bet."
When I became age 60,
I was too ashamed
to ask God for anymore time.
He understood my pain.
But, He gave me 20 years more
to spend on work and worry,
and He never closed His door
even when I was in a flurry.
At 90 years I knew
more time never could be.
Then, the Lord became my Savior.
With His love, He set me free.
Too old to rise from my armchair
to climb those distant stairs,
He touched me with His strength;
His mercy lifted me there.
In the warmth of His presence,
the Lord took away my gloom;
and I walked into His light
beyond my cluttered room.
Janet Marie Bingham
My quest for order is assailed
When gazing at the scene.
My neighbor’s less than tidy yard,
Is wildly overgrown: obscene.
There's clutter here and clutter there.
In fact there's clutter everywhere.
Yet flowers bloom in gorgeous hues,
Not mindful that they are abused.
Scattered wide and overgrown,
Seeds tossed about when being sown.
And thick green grass somehow is trim,
Amongst the junk that lies within.
I shake my head and think: tsk, tsk,
Who’d want to look upon that mess?
Then smile and to myself admit;
I really can’t complain a bit.
This scorn I show is not for real.
It masks deep envy that I feel.
A longing for more ease of life,
An unkempt mind, devoid of strife.
Delightful colors draw my gaze,
As I look down that hill each day.
If I'm to be, to myself true;
I must admit; I’d miss the view.
Walking around my cluttered mind,
Looking for something I'll never find.
As I'm wrapped in flames and I take all the blame,
I don't seem to care that I can't breathe this air.
And I see your face as you disappear,
Cus in my mind it's still so clear.
Sometimes I tear every thought in my mind,
As I know I'm leaving myself behind.
Sometimes I want to hurt myself,
Cus I can't get anything out.
Sometimes I look like I'm happy inside,
When really I'm just trying to hide.
My mind is cluttered with memories,
And your face it burns like a painful disease.
I pick up a pen to write you a letter,
If I mail it out, maybe I'll feel better.
Sometimes I tear every thought in my mind,
As I know I'm leaving myself behind.
Sometimes I want to hurt myself,
Cus I can't get anything out.
Sometimes I look like I'm happy inside,
When really I'm just trying to hide.
Look, at me, with your honest eyes.
Help, me breathe, cus I know that it's time.
Stop, it here, and leave it behind.
Good, night to, my cluttered mind...
Cloudy Day
Unfulfilled Dreams
Shuttered soul
Twilight encroaches
Fading Hope
Eclipsed heart
Dark Night
Steady rain
Flooded spirit
My desktop is as cluttered as my brain:
Lens cleaning wipes, two Handshake vouchers,
Visa receipts, envelope that contains
Tickets for a tragedy by Shakespeare
Outrageous fortune
And a thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to
ARTix passport containing free coupons
For music, the theater, film and dance,
HP inkjet print cartridge that I won
With an old bingo 50-50 chance
Death of a salesman
Loman’s solo tragedy
Fate was even odds
A card reminder for an eye exam;
An unopened pocket tissue package;
Three incomplete poems and rubber bands;
A senior magazine with a torn page
I don’t like the frames.
I never use the damn things.
What should I title them?
Will my desk ever be neat and tidy?
No! Unless I have me a man Friday
Pale, unloved, unheard,
a voice so pure,
though crowded,
I have much to say.
Hear me out,
I will play bravery.
If you listen,
I will give you knowledge.
I have seen the world,
through eyes of sordid brass.
Cleverly stolen tidbits
release my inner self.
Treason! I am betrayed.
Acknowledgment of sin,
an ironic pain indeed.
Maybe best unfelt?
Scrap the smoldering, winsome words
the lovely odd truce made of letters
found carved with the edge of an old pocket knife
on a strap made of metal and leather
Burn off the tarnish on platinum rings
engraved with the infernal: "LOVE"
found pulling limp loyalty up to it's feet
and then giving it a death dealing shove
Trip over shoes which should still be for dancing
and spin them right into the trash
found in the corner of the cluttered dark room
like a pack rat's incurable stash
Blow open windows long stuck closed with paint
Push all the junk to the sill
Unburden your soul of it's hideous secrets
and snatch back your sacred free will...
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